


bless the rains

by roboskin



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Memory Alteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 05:25:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14129037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roboskin/pseuds/roboskin
Summary: James Barnes has had Steven Rogers erased from his memory. Please never mention their relationship to him again. Thank you.





	bless the rains

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on the movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. You don't have to have seen it to understand what's going on in the fic, but I still highly recommend it, just because it's probably one of my favourite films of all time.
> 
> That fic's got a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/pefjb9ig8cyzq3vl1mtx6cswf/playlist/6PJwAsRMCqLG63lwteIk0Q?si=wJpPBgM6QA-92KyJHyfayw) you can listen to while reading, if that's your thing.
> 
> Title is, obviously, from Africa by Toto. The greatest song.

“Alright,” Natasha says. “We’re gonna take this back to the beginning. Ok?”

She makes some room on the coffee table to put down one of the two mugs she’s holding, then quietly sits next to Steve. He can feel her heat, even if she’s not touching him — he’s freezing, still wet from the snow outside. The blanket Nat put over his shoulders hasn’t managed the task to warm him up yet, but then, right now, nothing would.

“I went to see him at work,” he says. His eyes are closed, his hands joined before his head. “And he didn’t remember me.”

Natasha shifts besides him. “Excuse me,” she says, “but I still don’t follow you. How can he not remember you?”

“I don’t know, Nat,” Steve sighs. If it comes out aggressive, he doesn’t mean it. “I don’t know — it looks like a sick joke and I sincerely hope it is, but it’s not his style, and — I don’t know.”

Natasha doesn’t say a thing. She waits. Steve sighs again.

“We haven’t exactly been talking a lot these last few days,” he says. “We had an argument, and nothing since then — I just wanted to apologize, because it was my fault, and I’ve been such a dickhead to him, Nat, you have no idea —”

He feels something warm against his hand, and when he opens his eyes, he sees Natasha pressing the tea she made for him, the one she had put on the table, against his skin. “Drink,” she says.

Steve’s not going to be able to ingest anything, even warm water, but he takes the mug anyway. “So I go there,” Steve says. “At the Starbucks. And he’s there, of course, because it’s his shift, and for a moment I just feel — relief. Not a word from him in days, but he’s there, and it just felt really comforting to see him alive and standing at all.” The cup warms his fingers. “And he comes to me to take my order — cold, like I’m just another customer, and then he — asks for my name. To write it on the cup.” Steve closes his eyes again, because his head is killing him and everything is too bright. “I wanted to get mad, you know, I really wanted to, but I just — sighed. I told him to please not do this, that I just wanted to talk, that I was sorry, real sorry, and then he looked at me and told me ‘dude, I think you’re taking me for the wrong guy’ and smiled —”

Steve’s eyes snap open again when he hears something bang on a table — not a proper _bang_ actually, but even a soft noise like this one sounds like the apocalypse against the walls of his aching head. He sees Clint standing before him, besides the table. What he’s just put down is a platter with toasts. “Eat,” he says. “You look like shit.” Then he pats Steve’s wet hair, sits next to him on the sofa, and drinks from the coffee pot he’s holding.

“And then?” Natasha says.

Steve doesn’t eat. He still isn’t drinking the tea, either, but neither Clint or Nat push him. “And then he told me that he was really going to need my name,” Steve says. “And I — gave him, because I didn’t know what else to do. It felt stupid, and I expected him to laugh at my face for believing some stupid fucking joke, but he didn’t — he just smiled again, told me ‘thanks man, enjoy your coffee’ and he went for the next client.”

Then Steve had gotten his coffee and stayed there for a while, waiting for something to happen. Nothing did.

“Alright, there’s something I should probably tell you,” Clint says.

Steve turns his head, looks at him, and he feels Natasha moving next to him, too. “What?” she says.

“Ok, so,” Clint says, moving his hand to his pocket. “Looking at it now, I should probably have showed you that before,” he gets his phone out of his pocket, “but I thought it was some sick prank, and you probably would have, too —”

Nat cuts him. “ _Clint_ ,” she says. “Spill the beans.”

“Wait, wait,” Clint says, fumbling with his phone. “Wait,” he repeats. “Alright, there.”

When he turns the screen towards them, Steve has to squint his eyes to get adjusted to the lighting, and the letters are blurry. Natasha leans over him, her chin resting on his shoulder, and he can feel the warmth of her mug in his back.

“ _Mr. Clinton Barton_ ,” she reads out loud. “ _James Barnes has had Steven Rogers erased from his memory. Please never mention their relationship to him again. Thank you_.”

Silence, again. They stay like this for a while, saying nothing, studying Clint’s phone as if it was going to give them answers.

Eventually, Natasha says: “That’s all?”

Clint nods. “That’s all,” he says. “It’s signed —” he looks back at his phone, “Lacuna, INC — I haven’t tried to send something back to them, because again, I thought it was a joke and it just felt silly, but, em.” He pauses. “Perhaps we should — call this number.” He turns the screen back towards them. “Because there’s — a number.”

Steve says nothing. His heads hurts, and he envisions himself banging it on the wall, sees his skull breaking in a thousand pieces. At least it wouldn’t hurt anymore, then.

“I got it too,” Nat says, and Steve only notices now that she’s got her phone in her hands too. “The message.” She frowns. “That’s — not how it works,” she says. “People don’t just go around erasing one’s memories of their boyfriends. You can probably — play around with memory, for all I know, but _that_?”

“There’s nothing,” Clint says. “I just googled them — no website, no facebook page. Not any that shows up in the search, anyway. But there’s the number.” Pause, again. “A number feels a bit too much for a sick joke to me. And it’s not Bucky’s type, I think, to play with people like that.”

It’s not, indeed. Which is why it’s worrying. Which is why Steve can’t _talk_.

Natasha gets up, softly. “You should call them,” she says. “Drink that,” she points at the mug, “eat that,” at the toasts, “take a shower. Get into warmer clothes. Then sit back there, and call them. That way, you’ll know.”

She takes his head in her hands, kisses his forehead, and Steve lifts a hand to touch one of hers, but she’s gone before he can.

And it’s not Bucky’s type, no, but still, maybe it can still be a joke. Maybe Steve deserves that, too, for what he said, for what he doesn’t know if he can forgive himself for. Maybe when he calls the number, it will be an old lady answering. Maybe he can call Bucky and talk, see him and have a smile that’s not formal and not cold, a smile that’s his and only his, maybe.

But maybe not. Until he knows, he’s not going to be able to sleep, or function at all — so he better find out soon.

Clint puts an arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Come there,” he says.

Steve lets his head fall on Clint. His neck hurts, too. “I’m a mess,” he says.

“Oh, everyone is,” Clint says. “But you’re my mess.”

Steve smiles a weak smile.

 

_ 

 

Turns out there also was an address in the message Natasha and Clint both got. With that in mind, Steve doesn’t bother calling the number.

 

_

 

He’s standing in front of a small building in the outskirts of Manhattan. Nothing to distinguish itself from the others, nothing but red bricks and a metallic plate with the words “ _Lacuna, INC, Memory management_ ”. Pretty obvious for an agency that doesn’t have any trace of their activities on the internet, but then, Steve doesn’t know what he expected — a secret organization would have been even more strange.

Clint’s words from earlier echo in his head — “ _a bit too much for a sick joke_ ”, and if they sounded true a few hours ago, there’s now no way for this to just be a prank.

If it is one, Steve still gets in, because he has to know.

“Good morning, Lacuna,” he hears.

At his right, in the continuity of the hall, a woman is sitting behind a desk. She’s got her brown hair tied up in a sophisticated ponytail and papers around her. “No, sorry,” she says. Steve is prepared to speak, but then, he realizes that she’s holding a phone, and not talking. “That offer has expired, I’m afraid. Yes, of course, if that works for you. We can plan a first appointment on the — 16th? Would that be good? Alright. We don’t have anyone planned in the afternoon yet, so —  alright, four, let’s do that. Great. Have a nice day.” She hangs up. Steve’s been standing in front of her the whole time, and it feels a little bit stupid, now. “Can I help you?”

It takes Steve a few seconds to get himself together and answer. “I — my roomates got a message from you,” he says. “About — someone. Who —” _had me erased from his memory_ “came here for your services.”

“Oh,” the woman says. “I see.”

“I don’t understand what’s going on,” Steve says.

She sighs. Her features soften, all of a sudden. “Darcy?” she shouts.

A door opens behind Steve — when he turns around, a girl that looks younger than him is standing in the doorway. She’s wearing a large, colorful Christmas sweater. “What?”

“Are you busy right now?”

Darcy shakes her head. “Not especially,” she says.

“Could you please take Mr. —”

“Steve,” Steve says. “Rogers,” he adds after a second.

“Could you please take Mr. Rogers to Mr. Fury’s office?” the woman behind the desk says. “If he complains, tell him that I’m sending you two, and that I was right about the post-erasure message needing to be more clear. Again.” The phone rings again. “Good morning, Lacuna. Ah, that offer has expired, I’m afraid.”

“Come on,” a voice behind Steve — Darcy — says. “Follow me.”

She guides him through the hall. There’s a clear effort that has been made into making the place look as professional as possible, despite the papers, letters and random items piled up atop the chest in the small hallway — the rest is clean, tidy, and there’s formal, impersonal paintings hanging on the wall. Through a half-opened door, Steve can see desks, computers and more papers in a clearly more messy room.

They reach another door before Steve can process it. Darcy doesn’t bother knocking on the door before getting in.

A man with an eye-patch is sitting behind a desk. When he looks at Darcy and Steve, he looks exhausted and angry. “Darcy, how many times —”

“Sorry, sir,” Darcy says. “Maria told me to tell you that she was sending me to bring you Mr. —”

“Rogers,” Steve says.

“Rogers, here, and she was right about the post-erasure message, again,” Darcy finishes. “Which I don’t have an opinion on, of course, because I’m not any place to give you advice, but if I was, I would tell you that people could indeed use a little bit more information to prevent that kind of thing from happening.”

The man sighs, leaning down on his chair. “Alright,” he mutters. “You, you can sit,” he tells Steve. “And you, Darcy, thank you. Tell Maria that we’re going to improve the damn post-erasure messages.”

“No offense, sir,” Darcy says, “but I would suggest that you tell that herself, since she’s one corridor away and that’s not my job.”

“ _Alright_ , Darcy.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Darcy says. “Also, I was gonna make coffee. I’ll bring some to you. Do you want some too, sir?”

It takes Steve a few embarrassing seconds to understand that he’s being spoken to. “No,” he says. “Thanks.”

Darcy closes the door behind her when she leaves the room, and Steve is left alone with this guy that he’s out of an action movie from the eighties.

“You can sit,” the man says again.

This time, Steve does as he’s told.

“I’m really sorry about the inconvenience,” the man says. “As I understand it, your relatives got this message and you heard about it in some way. Correct?” Steve nods. The man sighs. “Ok,” he says. “What’s your name again?”

“Steve Rogers,” Steve says.

“Alright, Steve. I’m Nick.” He pauses. “You’re far from being the first one coming here for answers. I’m sure Maria is delighted to be proven right again.” Pause. “As you might have understood by now, somebody decided to have you wiped from their memory.”

Steve swallows. “This is a joke,” he says.

“I assure you it’s not,” Nick says. “I’m sorry, but it’s not. Goddamn, I fucking hate doing this — what was their name?” Steve blinks, not understanding, for a second. “Who forgot you?”

“Bucky — James Barnes,” Steve says.

“James Barnes,” Nick repeats. He turns towards his computer. “Ok,” he says. “Alright. I’m looking him up, wait. I’m not really supposed to — you’re not supposed to know about all of this, the whole point of the procedure is that it’s confidential. You shouldn’t have seen that message.”

“It’s a joke,” Steve says again.

“Found him,” Nick says. “James Barnes. He came here for the first time a week ago — we had his memory cleared last night.” Is that been a week since they had this fight? It looked longer, or shorter. “Look, I can’t give you proof, because as I said, we have a confidentiality policy. I can just tell you that.” Nick looks away from the computer, his single eye staring into Steve’s, now. “It’s not a joke,” he says. “James had you erased from his memory. He wasn’t happy, and he wanted to forget. That’s what we do here. I’m sorry.”

 

_

 

“That’s what he said,” Steve sighs. “ _James had you erased from his memory. He wasn’t happy, and he wanted to forget_.”

Sam sits down in front of him. “Eat,” he says, pointing at the bowl of mac and cheese he just put in front of Steve. “Bet you haven’t eaten anything since you woke up.”

Steve does as he’s said — tries, anyway. Sam’s food, and Sam in general, has always been a comfort. There’s been a time when Steve would have that everyday, a time when Sam would kiss him goodbye before work and stroke his hair every evening. It didn’t last long because they weren’t made to be a couple, and Steve’s greatest fear had been to lose Sam as a friend, too. He didn’t — Sam still fixes him food, still strokes his hair, and these are still some of the only things that feel like peace.

These, and Bucky, but there won’t be no Bucky anymore, now.

“This is fucked up,” Sam says.

“I thought it was a joke,” Steve says. He picks his fork in the bowl. “But I think — I think it really isn’t.” If it isn’t, it means Bucky _chose_ to forget everything. The memory of their first meeting keeps popping in Steve’s head — Bucky doesn’t remember that. He didn’t want to. How could he not want to? “What am I gonna do, Sam?” Steve says. “I can’t —” _live without him I can’t keep on living my life knowing I’ll never be in his again and he forgot me he chose to forgot me he doesn’t remember me he doesn’t he never will_ —

“If what this guy told you is true,” Sam says, “and I think it is, there’s one solution.”

Steve has thought about it. Of course he’s thought about it. “I don’t know if I want that,” he says.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Sam says. “Of course you don’t want that. You’re too emotional. It’s your greatest strength, and your biggest flaw.” He takes a mouthful of pasta, wipes his mouth. “I know you don’t want that, Steve. I know. But you won’t remember him, then, will you? Any of it. You can’t miss something that you don’t know.”

Their first meeting, again — the sea, the rain, the sand sticking under Bucky’s shoes. It was freezing — it was beautiful. Will he find an empty space in his chest, if he erases that? Will it be heavier that the different kind of emptiness he’s been carrying since this morning?

“I’m not telling you to do it,” Sam says. “I’m not telling you to do anything, Steve. Just — think about what’s best for you. If you think you can get past this and still cherish these memories with a distant eye later, go on. If you know, deep down, that it’ll always hurt — maybe you should do what he did, then.”

They both know that Steve can’t get past this. Sam once said that his heart was too damn big for his own good, and he can’t get past this, no, he can’t go on.

Sam gets up. “Come here,” he says, and when he’s close enough, Steve lets his head fall against his stomach, and Sam strokes his hair. “It’s gonna be alright,” Sam says. “You know I’ll always be there, buddy, whatever you do. It’s gonna be alright.”

For the first time today, Steve allows himself to cry. It comes out as a big, ugly sob followed by silent convulsions.

He can’t get past this, can he?

He can’t.

 

_

 

“Good morning, Lacuna,” a voice says from the end of the corridor. This time, when Steve reaches Maria Hill’s desk, she isn’t holding a phone — the _good morning_ was for him. “Oh, hello, Mr. Rogers,” she says. “You’re on time, that’s nice. I’ve set you up a meeting with Dr. Banner.” She gets up. “Please follow me.”

Steve does. “It’s weird,” he says. “I know a Dr. Banner. A friend.”

“Funny,” Maria says as she walks before him, her high heels clicking on the floor.

They bump into Darcy as they cross the corridor. When she gets back into what must be her office, Steve catches a glimpse of a woman crying. She’s holding a bunch of papers against her face.

“Here you go,” Maria says. She knocks on the door, waits for approbation, then opens.

For two single seconds, Steve thinks that this Dr. Banner looks dangerously like the one he knows, until it’s very clear that it’s the same one.

“Bruce?”

Bruce lifts his head — he hadn’t seen Steve until now. “Oh, shit,” he chokes. “Steve,” he say. “Hey — hi.”

“I’ll leave you two to what needs to be done,” Maria says behind Steve. “Or said. Seems like there’s a lot to be said.”

When she leaves, Steve is still looking at Bruce in disbelief. Bruce sighs, scratches his head, his neck. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know that it was going to be you. Maria didn’t tell me.”

“You didn’t know about Buck, either?” Steve says, his voice hoarse.

“No, I didn’t,” Bruce says. “I’m sorry. You — sit down, please. Let’s talk about this.”

This time, Steve doesn’t. “You had his memory wiped?” he asks. “You — _you_ did that?” _You washed me away from his brain you took him away from me now he doesn’t remember and he’s gone gone gone_ —

“Please don’t be mad,” Bruce says. “I — alright, be mad, of course you can be mad. I have no right to say that to you. Sit down, please.” Steve still doesn’t — he’s frozen. “I — I did my job, Steve. I didn’t do anything he wasn’t willing to — it was him. People do what they wanna do with their own memories, and whoever they decide to forget doesn’t have any possible power over what’s gonna happen or not — that’s how it works, here. I didn’t — I’m sorry, Steve.”

Steve swallows. He doesn’t move, and doesn’t talk, until he does. “I’m —” he swallows, again, “it’s — it’s ok, it’s not — your fault.”

“Perhaps you should know,” Bruce says. “There’s — Tony, here, too. He works here. With me. That’s the secret job we were telling you about, I’m afraid.”

He sits, then, perhaps because he’s been tired for too long now.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce says. “I really am.”

And he really sounds like he is — Steve isn’t even mad at him, now that the shock has passed. He isn’t even mad at Bucky — or maybe he is, but most of all, it’s the absurd fatality of all of this. Bucky forgetting him, Bruce and Tony’s secret job being helping people forget other people, his whole universe crushing in the span of two days.

“I guess you can’t tell me why he did it?” Steve says. “What he said, or — anything.”

“I’m afraid I can’t,” Bruce says. “Confidentiality policy.”

Steve sighs. “Yeah.” He lifts his head.

The migraine hasn’t left him since that morning.

“So,” Steve says, getting himself together. “How does it work?”

Bruce’s eyes are confused for a second. “Oh,” he says. “We’re gonna need you to collect anything at your place that could be linked to Bucky. Like — pictures, stuff he gifted you, clothes that belong to him if there still are some. Anything, really. This allows us to create a memory map in your head by scanning you reactions to these objects. We get rid of the objects, aftermath, so when your memories are gone, you’re not like, left wondering who this guy on the picture is.” Bruce pauses to drink in the mug lying on his desk. Steve, dumbly, wonders if it’s Darcy who made coffee today, too. “Then we get to the actual procedure, which happens at your place,” Bruce continues. “We sedate you, you lay down, and we get to work. Next morning, you wake up with no memory of him. It doesn’t mess up with the rest of your brain or anything — worse that can happen, you get up feeling like you’re hungover.”

“Am I not going to know something’s off?” Steve asks. “I spent the last two years with him. That’s — an awful lot of time.”

Bruce finishes his coffee, puts the mug down. “You forget a lot of things without necessarily wondering how,” he says.

 

_

 

It takes Steve an entire afternoon to empty his flat. Sam offered to help when he called him, but he wants to do this alone.

He spends hours and hours taking off the pictures on his walls, tearing pages of his sketchbook, collecting t-shirt and socks and underwear that Bucky used to leave there for when he would spend days at the flat — he would always wake up early, careful not to wake up Steve, and when Steve would get up, he would find him chatting with Clint in the kitchen. Bucky would kiss his nose, then, saying “ _good morning, sunshine_ ”, his voice always a little bit hoarse.

Everytime something hits the bottom of the trash bag Steve is holding, his heart breaks a little. Everytime, Steve convinces himself it doesn’t hurt because at the end of this, he will be free of Bucky’s ghost smiling in the kitchen, sleeping naked under his sheets, drinking beers on the couch.

It doesn’t work.

 

_

 

Bruce and Tony come at the flat two days later, in the early evening. They’re are both sleep-deprived, and it shows in different ways — Bruce looks like he’s woken up from a nap, and Tony is, oddly enough, radiating too much energy. For some reason, the first thing he does is assuring he hasn’t put whiskey in his coffee, today — a nervous joke that means “I don’t wanna fuck it up, not when it’s you, I’m sorry, I _didn’t_ want to fuck it up”. Which he actually said, too, yesterday, right before they started scanning Steve’s brain’s reactions to Bucky’s stuff. “I’m sorry, Steve,” he had said. “Christ, you must hate me. I’m sorry.”

Steve doesn’t hate him — he couldn’t hate him.

“Clint, Nat,” Tony says when he comes in. “Hey. Hi. How’s it going?”

Nat gets up. “Hey,” she says at the same time as Clint.

“We were gonna get to my room anyway,” Clint says. “Watch a movie or something. So you guys have all the room that you need for — whatever’s going to get done.”

“Oh,” Bruce says as he puts down the metallic suitcase he was holding with a heavy _clink_. “We were going to use Steve’s bedroom anyway, I think?”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “It’s just more comfortable. And it will feel normal for you to wake up in your bed tomorrow morning.”

“Alright,” Clint says. “Anyway.” He steps towards Steve and hugs him. Natasha follows. When they touch him, his skin is warm.

“It’s gonna be ok,” Natasha says. “You’ll feel better tomorrow. We’ll be here, alright? Life will go on as it always has.”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice muffled by Nat’s hair. It’s gotten longer. “Thank you,” he says.

When they let go of him to get in Clint’s room, Steve helps Tony and Bruce get everything in his room.

It’s only now that Steve wonders what how it will be for the others, strangely. How will it be, for Clint and Natasha, who got used to hang out with Bucky even when Steve wasn’t there, who came to consider him as a friend? Will they introduce them again? Or did Bucky forget most of them while forgetting Steve, most of their interactions having something to do with him? Do Clint and Nat have to say goodbye, too? Will Bucky ever remember Tony, or Bruce, or Sam?

They don’t talk about it. As they install Steve on his bed, Tony offers a beer.

“That won’t make me fuck everything up,” Tony says. “I can handle a beer.”

“I know you can handle a beer,” Steve says as he takes the bottle Tony hands him. “I don’t know if there’s anything you couldn’t handle, to be honest.”

“Oh, boy, don’t you remember New Year’s Eve?” Tony says.

“You were a disaster,” Bruce says as his bottle opens with a _psh_.

“Alright, rectification,” Steve says. “I don’t know how you handle _yourself_.”

“I don’t,” Tony says. “Pepper does it for me.”

“Poor woman.”

For one second, things are normal, as if they weren’t about to wipe most of the two last years off Steve’s memory, as if the happiest moments of his life weren’t to be erased forever.

Steve closes his eyes. He draws Bucky’s features under his eyelids one last time. For some reason, he appears to him laying in bed, smiling, his eyes glowing in the morning light, looking like he looked during the few moments he was entirely peaceful.

In a few minutes, he will be going under, seeing that face for the last time, and he will tell him goodbye.

 

_

 

**JANUARY 2018**

 

When they’re like this, nothing matters.

Bucky is over him, chest against Steve’s back, forehead pressed to his neck, and nothing matters. They’re rough — it’s alright if they are, Steve doesn’t mind. He’s always liked rough from time to time. It helps releasing the tension, taking out this anger they’ve been piling up for weeks for reasons he can’t even remember. Bucky sinks his teeth into his shoulder, his grip strong on his hips, and in that moment, Steve doesn’t think — he belongs there, _they_ belong there, to each other, and nothing matters.

They’re quiet when they’re done. Steve is peaceful, or something close to that — Bucky’s eyes are closed, his lashes wet and his skin glowing.

“Could it go another way, next time?” Steve says. He doesn’t dare touching Bucky, not now.

Bucky sighs as his eyes open. He reaches for the nightstand where his smokes and his lighter are. “‘s not like it was the first time,” he says as he gets on his back.

“Yeah, precisely,” Steve says. “Maybe we could talk. Maybe we could stop doing that — like this.” _Because I’m tired of being scared to break us, because I want to look at you in the eyes and stroke your hair and kiss your nose again, because I don’t want us to fuck like strangers, I want to hold you and I love you I love you I love you_ —

“Let’s talk, then,” Bucky mutters as he lights a cigarette. “‘m sure you have a lot to say.” There’s vodka in his voice. Steve had almost forgotten about that.

He gets on his elbows. “How much have you had?” Steve asks.

Bucky lets out a joyless laugh. “Not your business.”

“It is my business when you come home shitfaced — what the hell were you even thinking, driving in that state?” Steve can feel his voice rising, and he hates it.

“Ah,” Bucky says. “Sister Steve. At it again.”

“Don’t be sarcastic now,” Steve spits. “Just don’t.”

“You’re just jealous,” Bucky says. “You’re freaking out because I went out late without you and your poor lil’ ego can’t take it, and you can’t help but wonder if I fucked anybody else.”

“No, Buck,” Steve says. He doesn’t think, at the moment — it’s weeks of exhaustion and bitterness talking, and he doesn’t think. “I don’t have to wonder. I _know_ you fucked somebody else, because you think it’s the only way people will like you.”

He knows at the moment the words leave his mouth that it was a mistake, and regret sinks its nasty teeth into his throat as soon as it’s done. The anger is gone, and Steve is left with the upcoming consequences of what he just said.

Everything happens very fast : Bucky quietly gets up, stubs out his barely smoked cigarette into the ashtray on the nightstand. “Get out,” he says before Steve can try to pull the pieces together — too late, too late.

“Buck, I’m sorry —”

“No,” Bucky cuts him. “You have no right to say that. You have no fucking right to say that to me and then say _sorry_.”

“I didn’t want to —”

“But you did, Steve. You fucking did.” He doesn’t look at Steve, and God, that hurts. “Put your pants on and get out, _now_.

“Buck —”

“ _Get the fuck out!”_

Steve gets out of the bed and gets his clothes on the floor. “I’m sorry, Christ — look, I just wanted to talk, I didn’t mean to say that. I just wanted to talk, you never want to talk —”

“Oh, _please_ ,” Bucky barks. “Don’t make it about you now. Don’t you fucking dare.”

“I don’t wanna go like that,” Steve says as he gets his pants on. “Not like that, Bucky, please, it’s — can we please not part that way this time? Please. You’ve said plenty of ugly things to me, can’t you forgive me for one?”

Steve looks at him for the first time since they stopped having sex, and _God_ , it hurts. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “It’s the last time.”

Steve’s fully clothed now, and his head hurts. “Oh, please,” he says. “You’re drunk, you don’t —”

“Get out, Steve.”

And because Steve doesn’t, he gets out of bed, takes him by his arm, and walks him outside before slamming the door at his face.

In another dimension, a few days in the future, Steve says: “Yeah, that’s right.” He says: “It’s the last time, because you erased me, and they’re erasing you, too. You hear me? Tomorrow, you won’t be there. Tomorrow, you’ll have disappeared.”

Bucky doesn’t hear him. He can’t, because these words never existed.

 

_  
  


“Bruce?”

“Mh?”

“I feel bad.”

“Ah. Great.”

“I’m serious. I don’t like this. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They were — fuck, they were _them_. It was supposed to be enough, wasn’t it? Why did Barnes have to wipe him off?”

“It’s not our business what happened between them, Tony.”

“Then why is it our business to play with their brains?”

“We’re not _playing with their brains_ , we’re providing them a service they asked for. Jesus, Tony, it never bothered you until now — this makes people happier. It’s easier, to forget — so much more comfortable.”

“I know, I _know_. But it’s — it’s _them_ , ok? It wasn’t supposed to happen to them. I feel like the main couple of my favorite show just broke up.”

“That’s an awful comparison to make, but ok.”

“Oh, fuck off, you know what I mean.”

“Are you done cleaning his social networks?”

“Yeah, just now.”

“That was fast.”

“Yeah, we had already deleted almost everything when we did it for Bucky.”

“Oh, right.”

“Bruce?”

“Mh?”

“It’s kind of fucked-up, this job, don’t you think? I mean, of course, it’s _easier_ to forget, but isn’t it part of one’s life to learn to grieve? We all have our skeletons, that’s how it is — doing this, isn’t it like — playing God or something?”

“Tony, we’ve been doing this for _five years_. You’re only wondering about that now?”

“I need a drink. I’m gonna ask Nat if she’s still got some of that Russian vodka somewhere.”

“Come back in one piece, please.”

“Will do. Do you think Steve would mind if I were to smoke a little joint?”

“Don’t even think about it.”

 

_

 

**DECEMBER 2017**

**  
** It’s snowing when Bucky and Steve get out of Tony’s place.

They walk in silence towards the subway station as Bucky lights himself a cigarette. Silence wasn’t always that heavy between them — there was a time, not so long ago, where Steve could fully appreciate it. They would spend entire afternoons at the other’s place minding their own business, and it was just nice to know the other was there, because in the end, they would order pizza or Bucky would cook one of his grandma’s meals and they would talk until the food was ready. They would take a bath together, sometimes, and it could be in silence or with talking, but it was never like that, it was always peaceful, with Bucky. Steve can’t recall when that changed. He’s been wanting to ask Bucky what the matter is for God knows how long, not daring to. Would he break something, if he did so?

“You doin’ anything for Christmas Eve?” Bucky asks when they’re sitting in the empty metro.

“No,” Steve answers. “Why?”

“My mom’s going back to Romania,” Bucky says. “To spend some time with the family. She offered for me to come with her, but I’m not — she wasn’t really expecting me to say yes, anyway.”

One year ago, one of Bucky’s cousins saw a picture of him and Steve on Instagram and told the whole family. Things between him and then have been tense, since that day.

“So,” Bucky says. “Do you want to do something?”

Steve smiles at him. “Sure,” he says, and Bucky smiles back.

He leans over to kiss him, gentle and sweet, and in that moment, it’s peaceful again.

Steve should ask _what’s the matter?_ — but he’d break something, and why would he want to break this?

 

_

 

Tony and Bruce both jump when someone rings the doorbell. Tony’s eyes lift from the screen he was looking at, Bruce puts his book down. They look at each other in silence until they hear a door opening and footsteps in the living room.

“Yes?” Natasha says from behind the door — they’re both staring at it now, as if it’s going to allow them to hear better. “Oh, hi,” Natasha says. “Yeah, he’s there — but he’s sleeping. Yeah, he’s alright — I don’t really know, actually. Wait, hold on for two seconds, sorry —”

Faster footsteps, then the door opening before their eyes.

“I have Wanda on the interphone having a Bad Feeling about Steve and I can’t convince her that everything’s normal because she just knows about these kind of things,” Natasha says. “So I’m not gonna try. I’m gonna open the door down there, she’s gonna get in and you’ll do the explaining yourself.”

They don’t have the time to protest, because Nat is gone as soon as she came and they can hear her say “alright, I’m opening, come up” from the living room.

Two minutes later, not only Wanda but Pietro, too, are standing in Steve’s room. Wanda’s gaze is on Tony and Bruce while Pietro is staring at Steve, in his bed, with wires connected to his brain.

“I’m not a specialist,” he says, “but this, right there, looks very fucking weird.”

Tony sighs. “It’s a very long story,” he says.

“I bet,” Pietro says.

Wanda takes a few steps towards Steve. Her hair is wet, dripping over the oversized red sweater she’s wearing as a dress. She’s only got her thighs and her socks covering her feet, and when she walks, there’s no noise. She sits at Steve’s side, reaches for his face. Then quietly, she says:

“What happened?”

 

_

 

**SEPTEMBER 2017**

Bucky is walking before him, each of his footsteps making more dead leaves fly.

“You tired already, Stevie?” he shoots at him. His grin is luminous.

And it’s fun that Steve has grown so big through the years, because he’s always thought that he’d stay scrawny and weak all his life, but late puberty height growth and mass increase didn’t make his asthma go away.

“Come help me instead of laughing at me, you prick,” he shouts, panting.

“Alright, damsel in distress,” Bucky says. “I’m coming to rescue you.”

Steve grabs a handful of dead leaves and throws them at Bucky’s face. “Who’s the damsel in distress?”

Bucky spits a leaf out of his mouth, and then jumps on him. “I’m gonna kill you,” he says. They roll down the small hill they were climbing, getting leaves everywhere. They’re laughing like kids by the times they get down, and when they stop, Bucky is over Steve, kissing him all over his face. Still is still panting, but he’s smiling, too.

“There,” Bucky says as he bounces back on his heels to get something in his pocket. “Here you are,” he says, throwing his inhaler at Steve.

“You took it?” Steve says after taking a puff, trying to get his breath to steady.

“Because you never do, dumbass,” Bucky says. Someone’s gotta look after you.”

He lays down next to Steve, then, onto his back. They stay like this for a while — Steve can feel the sweet warmth of the sun over his closed eyelids, and his fingers are touching Bucky’s.

In another dimension, a few months in the future, Steve says:

“They’re erasing you, Buck. I’m gonna forget you — tomorrow, you won’t be there.”

Bucky rolls over, gets up on his elbows. “Shit,” he says. “That sucks.”

There’s so much light in Bucky’s eyes, in that moment, and suddenly, Steve wants to keep them. “It’s your fault,” Steve says. “You did it first. You forgot me.”

“I did that?” Bucky says.

“Mh-mh.”

“Fuck. ‘m sorry. That wasn’t very nice.”

“Yeah.”

Bucky kisses his forehead. Dead leaves crack under his weight.

“What am I supposed to do, Buck?” Steve asks. “I don’t think I really want to forget you.”

“I don’t know,” Bucky says, whispers. Again, words that never existed, not in that timeline, not in that precise moment, but his voice sounds exactly like it really does. Can it be true? “Maybe try to wake up,” Bucky says. “That could work, right? You wake up, you tell them you want to stop.”

He kisses him on the lips, this time.

“I’ll try my best,” Steve says.

 

_

 

“This is insane,” Pietro says.

Wanda is still sitting on the bed, at Steve’s side, stroking his arm, wondering how can Steve still be Steve, after this.

She turns her head towards Pietro. Since they’ve been there, he’s inspected every spot of the room, from Steve’s books to Tony’s computers, then took at look at the wires getting out of the weird helmet they’ve put on Steve’s head, then got out of the room, took a beer in the fridge, and came back. He’s leaning on the wall, drinking from the bottle, his foot tapping the floor relentlessly.

“This is fucking insane,” he repeats.

“Yeah,” Tony says, sounding tired.

“Why did he do that?” Wanda asks, and it’s the first time she speaks since they got in the room.

Bruce sighs. “Because Bucky did it,” he says.

“So why did Bucky do it?” Wanda says.

“We’re not supposed to talk about it,” Bruce says. “You shouldn’t even know that this is happening.”

“But we’re here,” Pietro says. “You might as well give the full thing away, while we’re at it.”

“It’s ok,” Wanda says. “Don’t tell us,” she says.

She can feel Pietro’s upset gaze on her even though she isn’t looking at him.

It isn’t like Steve, to give up. He would never have done that if it wasn’t for Bucky having done it first. He would have fought, Steve, he would have done everything he could to make things better, wouldn’t have cared if he’d broken a few bones while trying. Wanda wonders if Bucky remembers her, or Pietro, at all. They didn’t know each other before Steve and him started dating, and she can’t really remember seeing Bucky without Steve. Maybe he doesn’t remember, then, maybe he wiped them off, too.

That will probably make things easier for Wanda when she visits Bucky at work to punch him in the nose.

“It’s sad,” Pietro says.

Wanda is about to say something but then —

Then she turns her head towards Steve very fast, jumps, almost. Tony and Bruce stare in confusion, and Pietro says: “What’s wrong?”

She leans over Steve, studies her face. Sighs.

“Nothing,” she says, frowning. “For a second, I thought I saw him open his eyes.”

 

_

 

**JULY 2017**

Summer is eating New York alive.

It started getting real hot a week ago, and since then, Steve hasn’t been able to make a move without being as sweaty as if he’d just ran four miles. Which might be exaggerated, but doesn’t change the fact that it’s suffocating.

He’s been staying at Bucky’s place, these days, laying around in his underwear and reading books when he isn’t at work.

Right now, it’s Saturday, and Bucky just got home from the grocery store with, hopefully, at least three buckets of orange juice.

“Hey you,” Steve says, not looking away from his book — _Ender’s Game_ by Orson Scott.

“Hey,” Bucky says from the kitchen, and then, real quick, he’s in the living room too, taking his shirt off and crashing in the couch. “You’re putting the food in the fridge,” he mutters. “I’ve just walked two streets with to two heavy ass bags on my arms and it’s way too fucking hot. I’m not moving for at least two hours.”

“Poor little thing,” Steve gently mocks.

“Oh, shut up,” Bucky says, sounding tired. “I could have forced you to come with me, but no, I was too kind, did all the hard work by myself so you could stay there end enjoy not dying. Have some gratitude.”

Steve just laughs — he can see Bucky’s smile in the corner of his eye.

“I just saw someone I used to know,” Bucky says after a couple of minutes. “At the store.”

“Mh?”

“Yeah. My ex.”

Steve puts his book down and looks at Bucky. He’s got his left arm thrown over his face, and Steve can’t see his eyes. “Oh,” he says.”

“Have I told you about him?” Bucky says. “I don’t remember.”

“I don’t know? Which one?”

“Rumlow. Brock.” Pause. “Brock’s his first name. Who the hell calls their kid _Brock_?”

“That’s pretty dumb, yeah.”

“So I haven’t told you about him?”

“I don’t think so.”

Bucky sighs. “Ok,” he says. “Don’t freak out, I’m not gonna tell you my love for him hasn’t died and that I still long for him when I’m with you. Nothing like that. Don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t worrying about that,” Steve says, and it’s true.

“I don’t even think I ever was in love with him,” Bucky says. “I was into him, sure — dude was hot, had a pretty charming temperament to him in the beginning, it was easy. But I wasn’t in love with him, and it makes the whole thing even more stupid, because two months into this relationship, he started forcing me to have sex with him, and I stayed.”

Steve doesn’t say a word. He still can’t see Bucky’s eyes.

“He wouldn’t _exactly_ force me — he never clearly said that I had to, never physically pulled me down and made me do it, but if I didn’t want to and I said now, he would be unbearable. He would spend the rest of the day giving me the cold shoulder, guilt tripping me when I would call him out about it.” Bucky sighs. “I don’t know why I stayed with him — I really don’t know. Told you, I didn’t even love him. I don’t know why. I think I was feeling like shit at the time, and I thought nobody else would want me, and he didn’t help — he would say I was nothing, that I was lucky I had him and all, that I was lucky I was a good lay. And he hit right where it hurt, that bastard, because to me, it was true, and I think deep down, it still is, even if I know it’s twisted up — that the only way I can get people to like me is to fuck them.”

Steve doesn’t say a word.

He gets up from the armchair, crosses the living room, and sits at Bucky’s side. His reaches for his face, his fingers pressing to his cheek, to his stubbly jaw.

Then he says: “Buck.”

Bucky’s arm is still thrown over his face.

Steve says: “You know that ain’t true, right?”

“It’s stupid,” Bucky. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have told you about this.”

“You know that ain’t true,” Steve repeats, not listening to him, caressing his cheek with his thumb. “I liked you way before the first time we had sex, and I didn’t because I thought that you must be phenomenal in bed,” he says. “I liked you because you were _you_. And I — I’m sorry that shithead did that to you, Buck. I’m sorry.”

Steve leans down to press a kiss to his lips. “Look at me,” he whispers. “Please.”

When Bucky finally removes his arm from his eyes, they’re a bit wet. Steve kisses both of his eyelids.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Steve says, close to his face, and the heat should bother him but right now, it doesn’t. “Inside and outside. You’re you, and that’s a _lot_ — sometimes I don’t even know how to handle it.”

“Sweet talker,” Bucky mutters against his lips.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again, “for what happened. I’m so sorry. I wish it hadn’t.”

“God, stop taking everything on you,” Bucky says. “You don’t have to be sorry for my shitty ass backstory.”

“You don’t feel forced to have sex with me?” Steve says, suddenly panicked. “You know you can say no to me.”

And then, Bucky laughs. “I know that,” he says, kissing Steve. “Right now, for instance, if you were to try anything, I would tell you to go fuck off, because it’s way too fucking hot and I’m not fucking you until the sun’s down and I’ve taken two showers.”

“That’s a lot of _fuck_ s in one sentence,” Steve points.

“Shut the fuck up,” Bucky says, smiling, “and go store the food. You useless brat.”

Steve laughs against his mouth.

He loves him. God, he loves him.

 

_ 

 

**FEBRUARY 2017**

**  
** It’s pouring when they get out of the ramen place, and Steve has no umbrella to protect himself, no hoodie to cover his head. Bucky and him run hand in hand like idiots, almost knock an old lady over, almost slip and break their backs, almost get hit by a car, almost, almost, almost. They’re soaking wet by the time they get into Bucky’s car — Steve reaches for his inhaler in the pocket of his coat, and he hears Bucky’s laugh as he catches his breath after taking a puff.

“Jesus,” Bucky says. “Look at us,” he says. “We’re fucking dripping. We ran for nothing.”

“It was fun, though,” Steve says as he gets out of his coat. His breathing has returned to a normal pacing, now.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, doing the same. He bends over the console, kisses Steve on the lips. “Bless the rains,” he says. Steve smiles like a maniac against his lips and lets Bucky kiss him dirty, open-mouthed and deep.

“Wait,” Steve says. Bucky’s hands are in his hair and on his neck and Steve can feel himself getting hard — he’s only a man and Bucky is beautiful. “Wait,” he repeats. “We’re not gonna fuck in your car,” he says.

Bucky kisses him again, licks at his lips. “I don’t see why the fuck not,” Bucky says.

They do fuck, in the end. They end up on the backseat, Bucky under Steve, clawing at his shirt, at his hair, at his neck, at anything he can get his hands on as Steve pushes into him again and again. At some point, Steve stops worrying about people seeing them — it’s dark outside, no one will pay attention, and he isn’t sure that he cares anyway. He will be embarrassed about it later.

He comes grunting into Bucky’s neck, his fingers sinking into the naked flesh of Bucky’s thigh. “Don’t stop,” Bucky says, “don’t you fucking stop,” and Steve doesn’t. He keeps fucking into him as he starts jerking him off, kissing his neck, his jaw, his face, and then he hears “fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” and Bucky comes, too.

 _Please let me keep this memory_ , Steve thinks. _Just this one_.

“Hold on to it,” Bucky says — and it’s not the real Bucky talking, then, not the real memory. “Hold on,” he says. “Make me stay.”

Steve still has his fingers in Bucky’s wet hair, still is inside him, still feels the bliss, but it’s all going away. “I can feel you leaving,” Steve says with no idea if he’s crying or not. “I don’t want you to leave — please don’t leave, I can’t —”

Bucky takes his head between his hands. “Shhh,” he says, kissing his eyelid. “It’s gonna be ok,” he says. “I’m not leaving anywhere.”

Steve knows it’s not true.

It still hurts when Bucky disappears.

 

_

 

**NOVEMBER 2016**

They’re at a party at Tony’s place, and Clint is trying to explain some music theory to Steve. At the other end of the room, Steve can see Bucky chatting with Sam and Wanda. His smile is bright. And then, he disappears —

 

_

 

**AUGUST 2016**

 

— and disappears again when in the middle of a grocery store, as him and Steve were contemplating which cereal brand they should buy —

 

_

 

**JUNE 2016**

— and disappears again as they’re walking Sam’s dog through Central Park —

 

_

 

— _stop stop stop I don’t wanna do this anymore I wanna stop I wanna keep him don’t make me forget him I changed my mind I wanna stop please if you can’t give me back what’s lost of him just stop please stop stop STOP_ —

 

 

_

 

**APRIL 2016**

Steve opens his eyes in his bed next to a sleepy Bucky. His mind is already in another dimension, a few days in the future. Bucky is running his finger through his hair, and Steve wants to cry.

“I think I have an idea,” Bucky says. “Maybe there’s a solution to this problem.”

Steve reaches for Bucky’s face. His fingers touch his chin, his jaw, his lips. “Tell me,” he says.

“Alright, so this is a memory of me, right,” Bucky says. “I just woke up, and you’re thinking about how I’d look if you fucked me right now.” He smiles at this. “So — they’re coming here to erase this memory, right? Like they did for the others. What if you took me somewhere else? You hide me in a memory I don’t belong in, and we hide there ‘till morning.”

Steve closes his eyes. Then, after a few seconds, he sighs. “I can’t think about anything without you,” he says.

Bucky smiles. “That’s very sweet, but try, ok?”

He tries.

 

_

 

**NOVEMBER 1997**

“I can call in sick, sweetie,” Sarah Rogers says as she’s sitting at Steve’s side on his bed. “I can stay here and take care of you — do you want me to call Octavia? I can call her. She can come here make sure you’re alright.” Octavia is their neighbour — a tall, blonde, severe looking woman that looks nothing like Steve’s mom. He doesn’t know if he likes her or not, and he doesn’t understand why his mother and her are friends.

“Mom, it’s ok,” he says. “It’s just a cold.”

His mom frowns. “I know,” she says, in a way that means _it was just a cold last time too, and look at how bad you ended up being_.

“It’s ok,” Steve says. “Really. You need to work.”

His mom sighs. “Call me if there’s anything wrong, alright?” she says. “Octavia can be here in a heartbeat. Just call me. Or her, directly. Promise?” Steve nods. “Alright,” she says. She kisses her forehead, gets up, looks at him one last time, and gets out.

“Boy, you weren’t lying when you said you used to be in bad shape,” a familiar voice says.

When Steve turns around, he sees Bucky sitting on his desk. “Get down,” he says. “You’re gonna break it. It’s already broken — I had to tape it.”

“Alright, alright,” Bucky says, doing as he’s said. “How old are you there?”

“About ten, I think,” Steve says. He feels Bucky’s weight pressing down the mattress, and it feels so real. “Or eleven. I’m not sure.”

Bucky takes a look at the walls. “A kid with great taste, baby Steve,” he says, examining the posters on the walls — _Back to the Future, Star Wars, Indiana Jones, Jurassic Park_. “Oh,” Bucky says when he looks down Steve’s nightstand. “I’ve read this.” He’s holding Steve’s edition of _The Giver_. He only remembers it because he read it ten times, back in the day, but perhaps in reality, he was reading something else at this exact moment.

“Of course you have,” he tells Bucky. “You’re in my head. You’re just my imagination. You’re me.”

Bucky puts the book down. “Well,” he says. “At least I’m here, aren’t I?” He smiles. “It worked. I’m a genius.”

“Don’t think too much of yourself, dumbass,” Steve says, and he’s grinning now, because Bucky is here and he’s never been in this room with him, it’s not real, but he’s here, and he’s not going away.

 

_

 

“Shit  — what the fuck?”

“What?”

“I don’t know, it just — stopped working.”

“ _What_? How can it stop working?”

“I don’t fucking know, Bruce, but it fucking stopped working.”

“Let me see — alright, let’s look there. Why isn’t he on the map anymore?”

“God, good thing the twins left. Wanda would have killed us if she had been there.”

“Oh, don’t worry. She’s still gonna kill us if we don’t find a way to fix this and somehow screw up his brain.”

“Wow, thanks, Bruce, that’s very comforting. And useful. I feel way better now that all out problems are solved out thanks to your brilliant wisdom.”

“So he isn’t on the map anymore — have you looked in the global brain plan?”

“No, Bruce, I haven’t fucking looked —”

“There he is.”

“What?”

“Look. The red dot here. He’s there. I still don’t understand why he suddenly left the track.”

“Alright, we need to relocate him then — wait, let me — here, alright. And he’s back on the map.”

“Good. See? Everything is alright. There was no need to panic.”

“Oh, don’t talk to me that way — as if I was the easiest one to freak out. You panicked, too, admit it.”

“I’m hungry. Do you think it’s too late to ask Clint and Nat if we can have something? Maybe they’re sleeping.”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Aw, shit, it’s one. Maybe they _are_ sleeping. Do you think they will be mad if I steal some food? If I pay them back, I mean. It’s not really stealing.”

“You’re a coward, Banner.” 

 

_

 

**MARCH 2016**

 

Steve finds himself in the middle of a Barnes & Noble bookshop with a book he can’t remember the name of in his hands. All the other books are nameless — different colors and sizes, but no specifics. The only one that has is the one Bucky is holding — _The Catcher in the Rye_. “Hey,” he says. “I had to read that one for class. Everyone had to, I think — that’s part of the books that every teacher agrees that they students should read, I guess. It was good, though. Kind of got me into reading, even though I’ve never been much of a reader. Even after that — it’s a shame. I like to read, I just never do. I don’t even know where to start. You should make a recommendation list for me.”

From there, Steve would start to enumerate the best books he’s read, giving Buck a short summary each time. He would dig in his head to remember every good sci-fi story he’s ever read, because that would be something Bucky is into. They would leave the bookshop with one or two books that caught Steve’s eye, holding hands.

They would do that, in the real memory. But if he wants to keep it, Steve can’t let that happen.

So, instead, he says: “Bucky.” He says. “They found us. They kicked you out of my memory.”

“Oh,” Bucky says. “Shit. That sucks.”

The lights are progressively going out, and the walls of the bookshop are starting to crumble, dozens of books falling on the floor. Steve takes Bucky’s hand and runs to where there’s still light.

“Maybe you need to hide me somewhere deeper,” Bucky says, shouts, because there’s noise now, a buzzing noise that fills Steve’s ears and gets louder and louder as more and more things disappear. “Hide me somewhere even you barely remember! They won’t think about going there, they won’t find us.”

“How can I go somewhere I don’t remember? It’s memory, I can’t go to one I don’t have!”

“I said _barely_! Like, a memory from your early childhood, or something you’ve repressed — we have to go deeper. Find it!”

The buzzing sound stops. When Steve looks around him, he sees nothing but darkness.

 

_

 

**APRIL 1994**

On the first days of spring, Sarah Rogers usually takes her son to Central Park to watch nature awaken. She picks a sunny day during the weekend, wraps Steve in layers and layers of clothes because it’s not exactly warm yet in New York and he gets sick all the time, and they take the subway together.

That time, after they finish eating their sandwiches, Sarah takes out a bag full of cookies of her purse. Steve eats three, and is going for a fourth, because it’s not often that he has cookies this good. His mom takes one for herself, then puts the bag back into her purse.

“Oh, look,” she says, pointing in front of herself. “There’s a squirrel there.”

“Where?” Steve says excitedly, because he can’t see it yet and he wants to, he _wants_ to see it.

“There,” his mom says as she takes his head between her hands to turn it towards the right direction. She still manages to hold the piece of cookie she hasn’t finished without having it touching Steve’s face. “Do you want to feed it?”

“Yes!” Steve says. His mother smiles, crushing what was left of her cookie in little pieces.

“Here,” she says. “I don’t think it will come eating in your hand, but it will come closer if you throw these.”

Steve takes the crumbs in his small hands. He throws them in the direction of the squirrel as gently as he can, so he doesn’t scare it, and it does come closer — not too close, but closer. Steve watches it take big crumbs in its tiny hands, fascinated by the way it eats. He’s out of crumbs at one point, and the squirrel is done eating, but there’s a moment where it just stays there, staring at Steve with its black shiny eyes.

And then, suddenly, it runs away.

“Wait!” Steve shouts, but the squirrel is far away now. “I’m not gonna hurt you!” And Steve starts running after the animal, hearing his mother telling him not to go too far. Steve sees the squirrel taking a turn behind a bush, and follows it — there, he doesn’t see it anymore, but there’s a little boy with short brown hair and blue, blue eyes standing there, staring at him.

“Oh,” the little boy says. “Look, I’m a kid too, now,” Bucky says — because it’s Bucky, obviously, it’s always Bucky.

“You know, I often wished that I had met you earlier,” Steve says as he walks toward him. He takes his hand. “We would have been good friends, I think. It would have felt less lonely, with you.”

Bucky gives him a big smile. “Well, we get to do that now,” he says, fingers intertwining with Steve’s. “Look at us — we’re meeting again.”

Steve nods. Bucky hugs him, then.

“You’re right,” Bucky says. “If we had really met when we were kids, I wouldn’t have let you go. I would have loved you so much — you would have gotten so sick of me.”

Steve smiles against Bucky’s shoulder. “I don’t think that’s possible, Buck,” he says.

 

_

 

“I don’t get it. He keeps disappearing of the map. I’ve heard of it happening from time to time, but with him, it doesn’t seem to stop.”

“Can’t we put him back on tracks again?”

“Yes, we can, sure — look, there. Done. It’s just — it’s weird — ah, thanks for the food. What’s that?”

“Some vegan steak. Must be Nat’s.”

“Eh, it doesn’t taste bad. Maybe I should try being vegan, too.”

“Like you could. You have no will — you’ve been saying you’re gonna quit smoking for what, three years now?”

“Fuck you, Bruce.”

“Just exposing facts.”

 

_

 

**JANUARY 2016**

Steve wakes up on the first day of the year. Bucky and him are sharing a sleeping bag on the carpet in Tony’s living room — Steve can feel his heat everywhere their bodies touch. He’s still sleeping, Bucky.

“Hey,” Steve whispers. “Buck. Wake up. I need you to wake up.”

Buck frowns in his sleep, once, twice, then slowly opens his eyes. “Lemme sleep,” he mumbles.

“It’s important,” Steve says.

Bucky sighs. “Important enough to wake me up in early morning after an entire night of getting shitfaced?”

“Yeah, kinda,” Steve says. “And it’s not early morning. It’s ten.”

“Ten _is_ early morning on New Year’s day,” Bucky protests.

“It’s _really_ important,” Steve says.

Bucky sighs, again, but then, he finally opens his eyes. “What?” he says. “Jeez, my head hurts.”

“They found us again,” Steve says. “I tried to hide you in my childhood, but it didn’t work. You disappeared again.”

Bucky is looking at him now, really looking at him, his eyes tired but focused on Steve’s face. He puts a hand on Steve’s neck. “I don’t think we can do anything,” Steve says, hoping he doesn’t sound too desperate, but isn’t it even more desperate to try keeping a straight face in front of his own imagination? “I think it’s too late.”

Bucky frowns, thinking. Steve remembers him smelling like the beer he had spilled on his shirt and cigarettes and sleep, but also something much more like him. “Maybe,” Bucky says. His eyes are half closed. “Maybe it’s too late.” Steve had hoped he could come up with another solution before all of this is gone, but maybe it’s time to give up. “You can just — enjoy it,” Bucky says. “While it lasts. Just stay with me until I leave. Re-live this. It was nice, wasn’t it? Us in that sleeping bag, that morning. You were happy — we were happy.”

He holds Bucky tight against him until Bucky falls back into sleep, his nose in his hair, his hands warm in the sleeping bag, clutching to his t-shirt.

This time, Steve falls asleep before he can see Bucky disappear, and at least he has that — at least, he gets to sleep at his side one last time.

 

_

 

**SEPTEMBER 2015**

The sky is white, and Steve is cold.

He doesn’t know what he was thinking, coming here at that time of the year. No one goes to the beach in late September, and the weather in New York hasn’t exactly been kind these past few years. There’s nobody there except that guy who’s walking along the sea. Steve thinks he hasn’t noticed him until he sees the guy walking towards him.

“Hi, there,” the stranger says. “Didn’t think I would see anyone here today.”

“Me neither,” Steve says. The whiteness of the sky blinds him when he lifts his head, but he can still see his face — brown hair, sharp jaw, very bright eyes.

“Mind if I sit?” the stranger says. Steve shakes his head, and the guy sits next to him, on these wooden steps. His boots are covered in wet sand. He mutters something that sounds like “shit, come on,” to himself or to his lighter when he tries to light up a smoke.

“I’m Bucky, by the way,” the guy says when he’s finally succeeded.

It’s an odd name. _Bucky_. “Steve,” Steve says.

“So, Steve,” Bucky says. “What are you doing there on a beautiful day like this one?”

In another dimension, a few days in the future, Steve says. “I wanted to see you,” he says. “This is the last time.”

Bucky’s smile is sad. “Don’t,” he says. “Don’t break it now. Just enjoy it, remember? Enjoy me.”

They end up sitting on these wooden steps for hours. Steve remembers a lot of talking, but he can’t remember what they said. He can’t remember, because he couldn’t know he was meeting the most important person in his life, then. Still, they talk until the white sky turns to blue-ish grey, and then to deep, almost black blue. Buck smokes a lot, empties the whole pack. Steve remembers him saying he doesn’t usually smoke that much, complaining about his cold fingers as he struggles lighting up each new cigarette.

At some point, it starts raining.

“Come on,” Bucky says, getting up. “We’re gonna find a safe place!”

“Where are we going?” Steve asks as they start running.

“I just told you,” Bucky says.

“That isn’t exactly specific,” Steve says.

They run until they reach those big stairs that lead to the top of the cliff, and then they run in the stairs, too. It’s pouring, now, and water is dripping from Steve’s hair under his coat.

There’s a house on the cliff. When he was little, his mom and him would come here sometimes during holidays, when it was warm — his mom relaxing on the beach, keeping an eye on him, sometimes with Octavia, the neighbour, and Steve playing with sand, trying to find shells. He remembers saying he wanted to live on that house on the cliff, remembers his mom laughing and saying “you will, Stevie, you can do whatever you want”.

He only expects Bucky to open the front door because he remembers it. It had surprised him, at the time, but what was even more surprising was the fact that the door wasn’t locked.

“Coming in?” Bucky says, holding the door open.

“We shouldn’t,” Steve says, staying in place under the rain.

“There’s no one in there,” Bucky says. “The lights haven’t been on the whole evening. Don’t worry.”

“Still, we shouldn’t,” Steve says, but Bucky still gets in.

Steve ends up following him in the end. He tries to comfort himself thinking that maybe no one lives there at all, but there are jackets and coats hanging in the hall and a pile of letters sitting on a chest.

“ _Mr Peter Parker_ and — _Mrs. Gwendolyne Stacy Parker_ ,” Bucky reads on one of the enveloppes. “Either the lock is broken, or they’re just very bad at closing the goddamn door. Or they’ve been abducted by aliens. Who knows.”

Steve lets out a nervous laugh. “What?” Bucky says from the kitchen he’s now in.

“Did you just make a _Panic! and the Disco_ reference?” Steve says.

“Ha, I see you’re an educated man,” Bucky says. “You know your Emo Classics. Oh, look, they have wine. Do you want wine?”

“I’m not drinking somebody elses’ wine,” Steve says. “Breaking in their home is bad enough.”

Above them, the roof is starting to crumble. The memory is fading.

“It’s fun, though,” Bucky says, coming back to him. “Don’t act like you’re not enjoying it.” Then, he says: “Can I kiss you?”

Steve doesn’t know what to say for a few seconds. He nods, because he wants to — he wants Bucky to kiss him.

Bucky kisses him. His lips are chapped, the kiss is soft. It’s the best thing that happened to him in a while.

“That was nice,” Bucky says when they part away, before dropping another quick kiss on Steve’s lips. “Good thing we had to run to here — I’ve been looking for the courage to kiss you for an hour.” When he smiles, Steve can feel it on his skin, even though Bucky’s face isn’t touching him anymore. A ghost sensation, maybe, from all the other times they kissed, all the other times he can’t remember. “Bless the rains,” Bucky says. “Like in this song, you know. _Africa._ ”

Steve smiles. He remembers smiling before panicking.

“Can I have your number?” Steve asks. “I have to go, but I — Can I?”

Bucky smiles. “Yes you can, dumbass,” he says. “Give me your phone.”

After that, Steve starts walking towards the open door. A piece of the ceiling almost falls on his head. He turns around.

“I wish I had stayed,” he says, and it’s present Steve talking, the one that knows that he’s just had the entirety of his memories with Bucky wiped away. “I wish I hadn’t — freaked out, or whatever. I’m sorry I left.” Bucky takes a few steps towards him. “I wish I had stayed.”

There’s water in the house now. It flows by the door, but they’re still in it to their calves. The walls are cracking, and the roof is still crumbling down. It will be over soon.

“I wish you had stayed, too,” Bucky says.

“I wish I had done a lot of things,” Steve says. _I wish I had asked you what was wrong, I wish we could have figured this out, I wish I had kept you_. There’s water in his shoes and tears in his throat.

“Maybe you can stay, this time,” Bucky says. “It’s your memory. You can do whatever you want with it.” He takes Steve’s head in his hands, presses their foreheads together. “Chose to stay.”

“I can’t,” Steve says. “It’s too late. The memory is dying.”

“So let’s have a goodbye,” Bucky says, putting his arms around Steve’s neck. “Let’s pretend we had one.”

“I love you,” Steve says.

“I love you too,” Bucky says. He leans over Steve shoulder, and in his ear, he whispers: “Meet me in Montauk.”

The house crumbles.

And he’s gone.

 

_

 

Steve wakes up feeling like he just got crushed by a truck.

His eyes are wet, his head feels like it weighs a damn _ton_ , and he can already feel a migraine starting. When he checks his phone, he’s got two missed calls from Sam, and it’s almost eleven, Jesus Christ.

He gets out of the room too quick, and alright, he’s not moving hat fast again any time soon, got it. Clint, who is sitting on the couch with his computer in his lap, almost jumps when he sees him.

“Jeez, man,” he says. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“I’m late for work,” Steve says as he goes for his coat.

It hits him after a few seconds of Clint not replying that maybe he isn’t wearing his hearing aids, and that Steve wasn’t facing him when he talked. He turns back to him, seeing that indeed, he hasn’t got the aids on.

“Late for work,” he says again, facing him this time, and he signs at the same time just in case.

“Oh,” Clint says. “It’s Saturday, dude. You’re not working.”

Steve frowns. “Shit,” he says. “I forgot,” he says and signs. And then: “do you know what I did yesterday? I think I blacked out.” And it’s weird, because he doesn’t get _that_ drunk easily, and even if he does, he usually remembers what happens during the night.

“You just had a lot of drinks,” Clint says. “Tony and Bruce were there, too, remember?”

Steve doesn’t. “Yeah,” he lies. “Where is Nat?”

“In town with Maria,” Clint says. “I think they were supposed to have a brunch or something.”

Steve looks through the window. The sky is white, blinding.

He needs to get out.

 

_

 

Steve only realizes he should perhaps call Sam back when he’s on the train.

“Hey,” he says when Sam picks up. “Sorry I didn’t answer. I was sleeping.”

“Don’t worry, man,” Sam says. “I just wanted to know if you — were ok, I guess.”

“I’m ok. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Yeah, nothing — actually, I was calling to know if you wanted to have lunch?”

“Oh, I’d like that, but I’m going to Montauk right now. I’m already in the train.”

“ _Montauk_? Why are you going in goddamn Montauk of all places in the middle of January?”

The thing is, Steve doesn’t _know_. “I wanted to get out of town,” he simply says.

 

_

 

When Steve takes his tiny sketchbook out of his pocket, he notices that the first half of it is missing. It’s not even a notebook he remembers buying — probably an old one, still he doesn’t remember finding it back.

He starts sketching — the lady sitting in front of him, the seats, and then the landscape, really quickly, when the train stops. The lady gets down there, leaving the wagon almost empty, with only Steve and this guy a few blocks away. He starts drawing him, then. Sharp features, long dark hair, stubbly chin, bright eyes. He’s quite beautiful, this guy.

The guy catches him one of the times Steve raises his head up to study his face. He smiles.

“Can I see?” he says.

Steve nods. “If you want,” he says.

The guy gets up and takes a few steps to sit in front of Steve. “Wow, man,” he says when he’s got Steve’s sketchbook in his hand. “You’re good. Like — real good.”

“You can keep it if you want,” Steve offers.

“Seriously?” the guy says.

“Yeah, don’t worry. Look, it’s missing a bunch of pages anyway — I’m alright with tearing one more.” Steve takes the sketchbook back and tries to take the page out as gently as he can. “There,” he says when he’s done. “Here you have it.”

“Thanks,” the guy says. “That’s so cool. It looks gorgeous. You’ve made me way prettier than I am, though.” And Steve wants to tell him that he doesn’t have to worry, because he’s plenty gorgeous by himself, but this isn’t the kind of thing he can just throw at someone. He wishes he was Tony, sometimes. “How come it’s missing so many pages?”

Steve shrugs. “I found it like that,” he says. “I guess I must have thrown away some drawings I didn’t like a long time ago. I can’t remember what was on those pages.”

“That’s too bad,” the guy says. “I’m sure these were good.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Steve says. “I wasn’t always good.”

The guy smiles. “I’m Bucky, by the way,” he says.

It’s an odd name. _Bucky_. “Steve,” Steve says.

“So, Steve,” Bucky says. “Why are you going in Montauk on a beautiful day like this one?”

 

_

 

They end up having a walk on the beach together. Steve hadn’t planned on talking to anyone today, but it’s nice — they don’t even talk that much, but it’s nice. It’s nice having someone there with him, even if Bucky is a perfect stranger.

They go for lunch, after. It’s past one, and both their stomachs are growling. They find a dinner that has more than decent fried chicken — a place that Steve knows, actually. He’s already been there for lunch, forever ago. He can’t remember the last time he came to Montauk. Was it with Nat, or Clint? Was it with Sam? Was it with his mom?

They talk a bit more, there. They talk about music a lot, but then other things, too. Brooklyn, because it turns out that Bucky is also from there. They talk about politics, and Bucky says, “dude, I’m really glad you’re not a Republican” and Steve laughs. They talk about the tattoo Bucky plans on getting soon, and Bucky asks him if he has some — no — or if he ever wants to get any — never gave it a thought, actually.

It starts snowing again, then, and it’s freezing outside.

“Man,” Bucky says. “We should go back in town, don’t you think?”

And it’s weird, because Steve feels like he knows him from somewhere, like he’s already met him, or like he looks like someone he knows very well. Maybe he knew him, in a parallel universe, or maybe it’s just _déjà vu_ , as simple as that, because in the end, Steve is pretty sure he’s never met anyone like him before.

 

_

 

When he gets home, his hair and his shoulders are covered in snowflakes that are starting to turn to cold water and drip on his face, his coat. His migraine has gone, and he’s got Bucky’s number registered in his phone.

When he gets home, Clint and Natasha are watching some Netflix show on the couch, and when Natasha sees him, she presses the space bar. The sound stops as she stares at him with sad eyes that can’t mean anything good.

“What?” Steve says.

“We should — probably go,” Clint says, closing the laptop and getting on his feet.

“This is something that you need to face alone,” Natasha says, getting up, too. “Or maybe not — I don’t have a fucking clue. Anyway I don’t think it’s our business, so, yeah, we should really leave.”

“Would someone tell me what the hell is happening?” Steve spits.

Natasha sighs. She grabs something on the coffee table — an USB key? “Tony dropped this,” she says, handing him the key. “He said it was for you, and that you absolutely needed to watch all of it.”

Steve studies the object in his hand for a moment. “What is it? In it?”

“I don’t know,” Natasha says. “I haven’t looked. He also left this,” she points at the box lying on the coffee table, “but he said it was very important that you watch _everything_ on the key first.”

Behind him, Clint has already put his coat and his boots on. He comes back towards them to hand Natasha her black jacket. “Thanks,” she says.

“Can we have burgers?” Clint says. “I’d kill for a burger. We can go to that place you found the other day — with the vegan ones.”

Natasha nods. She looks back at Steve. “Call us if you need, alright?” she says. Then she kisses his cheek, and they leave.

Steve stands there for a while, just staring at the key, then at the box, then at the key again, then decides that if Tony wants him to see this urgently, he must have a good reason. Knowing him, it could also be a prank, but there’s only one way to know.

There’s only one file and one subfolder showing when Steve plugs it in his laptop. The file is a video file called _WATCH ME FIRST_ and the subfolder says _then open this_. Steve clicks on the video file.

Tony appears on his screen.

“ _Hey, man,_ ” he says. He looks tired, he always does. Steve remembers that they had drinks together last night, remembers that he doesn’t remember any of it. “ _Alright. Let’s_ — _Bruce is gonna kill me for this, and I’m gonna get fired, but I’m doing it anyway, so, let’s dive in. I hope you’re not gonna hate me too much after this, but I’d get it if you do. Hate me all you want._ ”

He pauses. By now, Steve has stopped breathing. “ _You don’t remember it, but a few days ago, you reached for a company called Lacuna_ ,” Tony says. “ _I work there. Bruce does, too. But you didn’t know that_ — _you came there because you wanted some memories erased. That’s what we do there. People come when they want or need to forget someone, and we wipe their memory off_.”

What?

“ _You came this week because you wanted to forget Bucky Barnes,_ ” Tony says.

 _What_?

“ _Right now, this name doesn’t mean anything to you,_ ” Tony continues, “ _but it used to. You two used to be together. You were fucking beautiful, you know? You really were, until he erased you. He did it first, and then you couldn’t stand it, so you asked us to make you forget him too._ ” Pause. “ _This folder contains everything you gave us about our relationship. You can open the box, after_ — _there’s a bunch of things that weren’t digital_. _It’s proof that I’m not shitting you, and it’s what’s left of your memories. I’m afraid I can’t give them back to you. That’s all I can do_.” Pause. “ _I don’t even know if I’m doing you good by doing that, you know. You would probably be better off not knowing anything of this, living your life like any of this never happened like it’s supposed to go after having had the erasure. It would be better, maybe, than to know that the man you loved chose to forget you._ ” Pause. “ _But you looked so damn sad to forget him, Rogers._ ” Pause. “ _I’m sorry. Take care, ok? Call me, if you still want to talk to me. Bye_.”

The screen turns black.

Steve doesn’t move for a while.

This isn’t the kind of joke Tony would make, is it?

His finger moves on the pad, opening the _then open this_ subfolder. There’s another video file called _Steven Rogers 01112018_ and another folder called _pics_. He opens the video on automatic mode, because if he stops to think for one second, he is going to lose it.

“ _Alright,_ ” a voice — Bruce? — says as Steve watches himself sitting in front of a camera. “ _You can start_.”

Steve — the actual Steve from the present — has stopped breathing again. “ _My name is Steven Rogers and I’m here to erase Bucky Barnes from my memory_ ,” the Steve on the screen says.

He doesn’t even recognize his own voice. “ _I’m doing this because he did it_ ,” the other Steve says. “ _I don’t know why he did it, but he did, and I can’t_ — _go on living with a relationship that never existed for him. It’s unfair_.” Pause. “ _I wish he would have talked to me more. Something was wrong, and it was making him mean, but it was mostly making him sad, and I didn’t know what it was_ — _I wish he would have told me instead of doing that, but mostly, I’m mad at myself for not asking._ ”

He opens the _pics_ folder, still not thinking, still not daring to.

“ _He did get really mean, these days_ ,” the other Steve says. “ _or weeks_ — _months, Christ, I don’t know. It felt good to be with him, before, and then it felt_ — _scary_. _Like everything might explode if we talked_.” Steve opens a picture — Bucky and him, in the snow, smiling, Bucky’s eyes very bright and very blue. “ _And when he would talk, he sounded so tired, like I was exhausting him just by being there, and I wanted to disappear_.” A picture of Bucky with Clint, taken in the dark. They both happy and drunk. “ _The last time that we talked_ — _he said there wouldn’t be a next time. And_ — _people say a lot of shit when they’re mad. I didn’t think_ —” A picture of Bucky holding Wanda’s cat — his hair is short on that one. “ _I hope he’s happy now_.”

He’s happy on the pictures — he looks happy. Steve looks happy, there, too. He clicks on his keyboard very fast, and he barely sees the smiles and the silly faces and everything that doesn’t feel like it belongs to him. Does it?

In the box, Steve finds polaroids and several drawings of Bucky with dates and little notes on them, and it’s his drawing style and his handwriting, but how can it be him when he doesn’t remember?

Two knocks on the door, and Steve jumps.

Bucky is standing in front of him when he opens it.

“The door was opened,” he says. “Downstairs.” He holds a USB key, similar to Steve’s except it’s blue except of green. “There was — Tony gave me your address in his recording,” he says. “Do you know him? Tony?”

“Yes, he’s — he’s a friend,” Steve says. “Did you get —”

He doesn’t finish. Doesn’t need to. “Yeah,” Bucky says. “There are pictures of us. You saw that?”

Steve lets him in. “Yeah,”

Bucky looks around him, trying to recognize something in this place. “I don’t remember meeting him,” he says. “I barely remember anything I’ve done with him. It’s all — blurry. Is this because I met him because of you?”

“Probably,” Steve says. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t remember.”

“Do you have anything to drink?” Bucky suddenly asks.

“Em, yes, I — what would you like?” Steve says.

“Do you have whiskey?”

“I can find that.”

The other Steve is still talking from the computer.

“ _I can’t ever bring myself to be mad at him_ ,” he says as Steve is getting in the kitchen. “ _Because I was horrible, in the end. I was so tired, and I said things I should never have said. I can’t be mad at him for doing that, because_ — _in the end, it’s my fault. He hadn’t been well for a while, but we could have fixed it. We could have talked. I never tried to talk, I just_ —”

Bucky is sitting on the couch when Steve gets back. He’s got one of Steve’s drawings in his hand. “Thanks,” he says as he takes the glass Steve hands him.

“ _I told him that fucking people was the only way he thought they would like him_ ,” the other Steve says.

In front of him, Bucky freezes. He empties the glass all at once. Steve doesn’t move.

“I’m sorry I said that,” Steve says.

“ _That’s the worst thing I ever told him_ ,” the other Steve says, “ _and maybe the worst thing I could say._ ”

“It is,” Bucky says. “It is the worst thing.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again.

“I know,” Bucky says. “I know, it’s ok, you — it’s ok. It’s nothing.” But it’s not.

It’s not.

“I should probably go,” Bucky says. He puts the glass down the coffee table and gets up. “This was a bad idea.”

Maybe it was. “Yeah,” Steve says. “Ok.”

He walks Bucky to his door. Behind them, the other Steve says: “ _I thought I knew him_.”

“Ok,” Bucky says. “It was — nice to meet you. In the train.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Take care.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and he leaves the flat.

And the other Steve says: “ _I thought I knew him. I_ s _pent so much time with him and in the end, he’s a stranger_.”

In the present, Steve says: “Wait.”

He gets out of the flat — he doesn’t have to run, because Bucky is still here, and when he turns around to face him, he looks like he might cry.

“ _What_?” he says.

“I don’t know,” Steve says. “I don’t know. Just — wait.”

He stands in front of Bucky as if he has something to say, something important, but he doesn’t. It’s important, though, it is — right now, it’s the truest truth in the world: it is important that Bucky stays, and if Steve doesn’t know what to say, what to do, damn him, because he will have to find out anyway, he will have to _do_ something, because it can’t end like this.

“Ok,” Bucky says, finally. He moves to lean on the wall, but it’s more him letting himself fall against it, tired.

Steve takes a few steps until he’s facing him.

“You wanna know why I broke up with you?” Bucky says.

Steve can’t bring himself to say anything. He nods, although he isn’t sure why.

“I was depressed,” Bucky says. “I was just depressed — it’s clinical. I doesn’t get very bad very often, and I can handle it most of the time, but sometimes, everything’s fine and then it just happens, and I feel like I’m gonna die all the damn time, and I couldn’t — I couldn’t stand you looking at me like I might break. That’s what I said on the video, because I don’t remember any of that, I don’t —”

“You being depressed is not gonna make me unlike you,” Steve finally says. “I don’t think it did either, before. From what I got, I just — didn’t know what to do. And I like you, I do — I can’t think of anything I don’t like about you.”

Bucky is looking away. He doesn’t say anything for a while. “But you will,” he finally says. “You will. That’s what happens. I will get bad again because I can’t fucking help it — that’s just how it is.”

“It doesn’t mean I won’t like you,” Steve says again. “It doesn’t — from what I understood, things went to shit because we didn’t talk about it. I don’t think I even knew that about you, before. That’s a good step, isn’t it? Us talking about it now.” Pause. “Maybe we can try again. Maybe we can talk more. Maybe it could work.”

Bucky’s eyes are wet, and for a second, Steve thinks he’s just going to leave, but then, he laughs.

“We can try,” Bucky says. “I can’t promise you anything, but — I like you, too.” He sniffs. Maybe he is crying now. Maybe Steve just can’t see. “We can try.”

Steve lets himself fall against the wall facing Bucky. He smiles. “We can,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

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